


Marking Time

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [14]
Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sif is angry, Clint shows off, Fandral is amused, Fingerfucking, Idunn is creeping, M/M, Oral Sex, and snarks a bit, and then there's the usual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several weeks have passed since Loki and Clint's arrival in Asgard and Idunn has yet to make an appearance.  Clint is growing restless and Loki has the perfect idea to appease him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marking Time

The sound of the servant entering their chambers, while soft and studiously unobtrusive, never fails to wake Loki.  He keeps still, eyes held shut against the morning light as the breakfast tray is placed on the table.  Only after the girl leaves does the god stretch languidly before rolling to face the archer curled at his side.

Loki smiled fondly and reached out to smooth a swatch of his Hawk’s sleep-ruffled hair.  Clint’s eyebrows drew together and he huffed out a quiet breath even as he burrowed his face deeper into the pillow, hiding from the sun.  

But the veil of slumber has been pierced, and almost reluctantly, Clint’s eyes blink open.

"Good morning," Loki murmured.

"Does it _have_ to be morning?” Clint asked, his voice thick with sleep.  ”Can’t it be afternoon?”

"It could, if you wish it so," Loki chuckled.  "But by then, I fear our breakfast would be dreadfully cold.”

Clint groaned, rolling to his back and slinging his forearm over his eyes.  ”Might be worth it,” he replied.  ”The mornings come too damn early here.”

"One would think that after nearly a month, you would have grown used to that," Loki chided as he slipped from the bed and crossed the room.

"I’m not a morning person," Clint answered simply, pushing himself upright to recline against the pillows.  "Doesn’t matter what realm I’m in…that doesn’t change."

"Of that, I am _well_ aware,” Loki said, returning to the bed and placing the tray of food at Clint’s side.  ”But now that you are awake, we should take full advantage of this repast.”

"I’ll never say no to bacon," Clint allowed.  "Just wish you guys had _coffee_ in Asgard.”

He didn’t miss the way Loki’s hands twitched at the word.  Of the many things they’d left behind, Clint had to admit, coffee was one he was sorely missing.  Hell, he was starting to forget the smell already.

It made him wonder, though, just how long he was meant to stay here.  He’d been told the process of gaining access to the apples would be a long one, but no one had thought to tell him how very boring the wait would be.  He hadn’t been idle for this long since he’d joined S.H.I.E.LD., and the inactivity was beginning to grate on his nerves.

But he would tough it out, for Loki’s sake.  Even just woken up and still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Clint could see how much being home had affected him.  He was lighter, somehow, as if there had been something weighing him down.  Whatever it was, it had eased since they’d been here.

Loki broke into Clint’s musings with a nudge of the tray towards him, and Clint realized he hadn’t moved to take a single bite.  He truly despised mornings.

"So what are we doing today?" he asked as he reached for the plate, not even bothering to see what it was he picked up before he bit into it.  "Gonna show me off some more?"

"Perhaps," Loki mused as he carefully selected a morsel of fruit and popped it into his mouth.  He chewed slowly and then swallowed before continuing.  "I would prefer to stay here, tucked away.  But alas, we are expected to make _some_ sort of an appearance.”

"What’s the use of being royalty if you don’t get to do what you want?" Clint grumbled.

"I have asked myself that many a time, my Hawk," Loki replied.  "With never a satisfactory answer to be found."

Clint snagged a thick slab of buttered bread from the platter before him as he asked, “So where to, then?  The gardens?  Or maybe the marketplace?”

Loki tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he thought.  

Over the course of the past several weeks, he had taken Clint to nearly every corner of the Golden City.  The mead halls, and market stalls; the shipyards and stables.  Clint had insisted on exploring each and every alleyway, until his curiosity had been sated, and his feet sore.  

They had even ridden into the wilds surrounding Asgard, where the archer had caught his first glimpse of bilgesnipes, and immediately pronounced them, in that blunt way of his, ‘ _Fucked up_.’

Loki had snorted at this proclamation, asking, “What makes you say that, pray tell?”

Clint had gestured to the creature, exclaiming, “It looks like someone took a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a moose, stirred ‘em together in a pot…and _that_ crawled out!”

The god’s laughter had echoed back from the surrounding hills that day as Clint gave him a pleased grin.

"See?"  He’s said.  "I’m not wrong.  And I definitely wouldn’t want to have to _fight_ that thing!”

Loki shook himself free from the memory, the corner of his mouth lifting into a pleased smirk.  ”I have _just_ the place to take you,” he announced.  ”The one area we have failed to visit, so far…and the one I think you shall appreciate the most.”

Clint’s brow furrowed as he asked, “Are you planning on telling me?  Or are we gonna play ‘Asgardian 20 Questions’ again?”

"The training grounds," Loki said, his smirk widening into a grin.  "And bring your bow.  I daresay that you will be well pleased with the archery range."

Now it was Clint’s hands that twitched.

"Really?" he said, sounding much too eager to his own ears and not giving a good goddamn, because _goddamn_ he missed his bow.

Thor had anticipated Clint’s need to have his gear with him, and when he had returned from Midgard - after turning off their _coffee maker,_ of all things - he’d handed over the case his bow was stored in, as well as his quiver full of arrows.  Clint had nearly bitten his tongue in half to keep his excitement contained.

The opportunity to actually use them hadn’t come up since, and Clint was really missing it.  He rubbed his thumb over the callused tips of his fingers without even realizing it.

"Of course," Loki said, sounding almost indulgent.  "I could hardly show you off without a display of your skills, now could I?"

Clint was wide awake now, the prospect of practicing his archery after so long worked better than any amount of coffee.  Loki smiled as he flung the covers aside and went to find something suitable to wear.  He dug through the collection of clothes Loki had provided for him to wear, assessing and dismissing each as he pawed through the wardrobe.

He felt more than heard Loki come up behind him, then there were hands settling on his shoulders and a warm, amused chuckle in his ear.

"Can it not wait a few moments longer?  There is time enough at least to finish our breakfast."

"Not hungry," Clint muttered, still scanning his hanging clothes with his eyes.  He darted forward and picked something dark that would fit him a little closer than all the loose, flowing cloaks and busy sleeves most people here seemed to prefer.

Loki hummed thoughtfully, and with a twist of his fingers, did away with the sleeves altogether.  Clint lifted an eyebrow and turned his head to give him a smirk.

"What?" he asked.  "I wouldn’t be properly showing you off if those arms of yours are covered, now would I?"

Clint gave a rueful smile as he slipped the tunic over his head.  ”Keep that up, and my ego is gonna be too big to fit through the door.”

"Ah, yes," Loki replied.  "I had nearly forgotten how smug you grow when I voice my appreciation of your form."  The god trailed his fingertips lightly down the curve of Clint’s left tricep, grinning at the gooseflesh that rose in the wake of his touch.  "You cannot fault me, though."

"Nope," Clint answered in an amused tone.  "You can appreciate me all you like, and I’ll just keep on being smug."

"As if I need your permission to do such," Loki murmured as he crossed the room to a low dresser.  He pulled open a drawer and frowned lightly before he began to rummage through the clothes within.  His face brightened into a smile as he located a pair of soft leather breeches.  

"This will do nicely, I think," he said, and tossed them to Clint.

The archer caught them on the fly, holding them up to himself before turning an askance eye Loki’s way.

"These look a little…tight," Clint commented.

"Yes," Loki returned, obviously pleased.

"You are enjoying this _way_ too much,” Clint chuckled as he stepped into the pants.

"Again I ask; can you fault me in this?"

"Guess not," Clint allowed as he glanced at himself in the mirror.  "You’ll just have to be on guard duty, in case I cause a riot going out in public dressed like this."

It wasn’t entirely a joke.  While Clint doubted anyone would actually trample someone just to get to him, he _had_ gotten his share of attention back home.  Attention that Loki hadn’t been too happy about.

Well, he’d gotten his share of attention _here_ as well.  Apparently, there were _rumors_ about him.  Who knew where they came from.  Probably Thor telling stories; Clint had learned he had a habit of exaggerating — sometimes vastly out of proportion.  He had to admit, it was flattering, in a way, to have an honest-to-God _god_ bragging about knowing him, but at the same time, he could do without all the groupies.  Most of the time, he could ignore it, but there was such a thing as _court protocol_ , and apparently he was meant to follow it, despite not being a member of the court himself.  Sometimes, that meant he had to meet with these people face to face and pretend not to be creeped out by all the questions and not-so-subtle ogling.  Loki would give a tight, vicious little smile, and then later, Clint would have more bite marks to hide after he’d re-staked his claim in private.

It wasn’t like Clint minded.

Today, though, Loki wanted him to show off.  Or rather, he wanted to show him off showing off.  For as many stories that Thor had spun about his various warrior-like virtues, there were a great many who simply didn’t believe them.  Depending on the embellishments, even _Clint_ didn’t believe them.

So, today, he would show off.  Get a little practice in, _and_ shut the nay-sayers up good and proper.

First, they were going to have to leave the room, and the way Loki was staring at him in the clothes he’d picked out, that looked more and more unlikely.

"Okay, Princess, stop drooling," he said, and reached for the coat he’d taken to wearing.  It wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as the cape Loki had put him in when they first arrived, or as intimidating as Loki’s own coat.  It was quite similar to the uniform jacket he wore back home for cold-weather missions, though clearly still Asgardian.

Loki gave what Clint could only describe as a _pout_ when he swung the coat over his shoulders.

As much as the god looked forward to watching his Hawk in action, the urge was quickly growing to drag him back to bed and pass the time in a more interesting manner.  But no matter how enticing Clint looked, it would be cruel to suggest visiting the archery range, and then snatch that promise away.

And so Loki tamped down his hunger and instead set about dressing for a day at the training grounds.

Clint checked over his bow, mentally ticking off each adjustment as it was made.  He nodded to himself and glanced over to find Loki pulling on his boots.  The itch in his fingers was growing by the minute, and he realized then exactly how much he’d missed the ritual of shooting.

"Almost ready?" he asked.

"Nearly," Loki replied, smoothing back his hair and shining a quick grin Clint’s way.  "Eager, are we?"

"You don’t even know," Clint answered.

"Soon enough you’ll have your chance to shine," Loki soothed as he crossed to Clint’s side.  "And I daresay by day’s end, you’ll have _quite_ the captive audience.”

"Don’t really care about _that_ ,” Clint shrugged as he snapped closed the bow case.  ”Whoever wants to watch, can watch.  I’m just in it for the workout.”

"Of course," Loki hummed.  

But in the back of the god’s mind, the thought rose that perhaps there would be one among the crowd that would be there for more than a simple exhibition of skill.  One that was shadowing them; judging them.  

And perhaps soon, they would be called to stand before her.

As they made their way to the training grounds, Clint couldn’t help but notice Loki’s mind was off somewhere else.  His gaze was distant, pensive, as if something was plaguing him, and Clint knew from experience that asking him about it would be the quickest, easiest way to _not_ get an answer.

It would be weird if something _wasn’t_ bothering him, Clint decided.  They’d only been in Asgard for a few weeks; for Loki, it must still be quite a shock to his system, after being gone for so long.  The people’s apparent acceptance of him had been a surprise, to say the least, and he was still adjusting to people hailing him as a prince once again.  There was always a little flinch, a slight tightening around his eyes whenever anyone called him that.

It was no different today.  The sight of the two of them striding through the halls and walkways of the Palace always drew attention.  Clint was still working on ignoring it.

"Still not used to this," he muttered, low enough that only Loki’s ears could catch his words.  His eyes never stopped scanning the crowds, darting from face to face, gauging, assessing, planning contingencies.  It was a side-effect of being around so many people who wanted to kill him, and not so easy to turn off.

"To what?  The deference?  Or do you speak of the admiring gazes you seem to garner wherever we happen to find ourselves?"  Loki’s voice was light and teasing.

"Both, I guess," Clint said.  "Just seems like everyone here knows who I am.  Kinda tried to avoid that back home."

Loki hummed thoughtfully.  “Yes, I can see how that might take some getting used to.  Here in Asgard, esteemed warriors have a certain kind of… celebrity, shall we say?”

"So I’m like… what, a _rock star_ here?” Clint asked.

A pleased smile touched Loki’s face at the comparison.  “Something very like that, yes.”

Clint blinked, then smiled his own enigmatic grin.  “I’m alien-famous.  I’ll take it.”

Loki gave voice to that pure, unaffected laughter that had become so familiar to Clint in the last few weeks.  It never failed to bring a warm feeling into his chest when Loki laughed like this, and it made the waiting seem almost bearable.

Granted, it bothered him that he still didn’t know anything more about the trials, or about the woman who would assign them.  There had been conversations, and speculations from everyone involved.  Thor had told stories of previous meetings with Idunn; detailing how brusque and headstrong she could be.  

But that really didn’t tell him anything useful beyond the fact that she took no crap from anyone, and that she moved in her own time.

And so they waited.

"We are nearly there," Loki remarked.

Clint shook off his thoughts of Idunn and looked up to see the hallway they were traversing widening into a large room.  There were several large arches at the far end that opened to the grounds outside, and the breeze brought with it the sound of metal clashing and people’s voices raised in excitement.

That itch was back in his fingers, and he unconsciously flexed his right hand.  He could feel the adrenaline starting to build; his senses sharpening until everything looked brighter; more in focus, and he had to fight the urge to break into a trot.

Loki could fairly _see_ the excitement coursing through his Hawk.  The set of his mouth, and the tense line of his shoulders spoke volumes on the archer’s need to practice his craft, and Loki had a fleeting moment of regret that he hadn’t considered this sooner.

 _'He shall have what he craves soon enough,'_ he thought, pushing away the prick of guilt.   _'And then all shall see what he is truly capable of.'_

Much like with everything else in Asgard, the training grounds were pretty impressive.  Clint took in the vast parade ground filled with guards and standing army training in formations.  Sunlight glinted off of blades and armor, feet stirred the dust until the air was hazy with it.  There was the smell of leather and metal and sweat.  It was nothing like the training grounds S.H.I.E.L.D. maintained, where everything was sharp angles and harsh cement.

As Clint surveyed the arena, Loki surveyed Clint.  He didn’t miss the way his sniper’s eyes took in every detail, scanning, filing everything away into that finely-honed memory of his.  There was no doubt in Loki’s mind that Clint was impressed; he wasn’t trying to hide his excitement.

"Man, I wish Fury was here to see this," Clint said as he watched a phalanx moving in perfect synch, blades and shields moving with a precision that looked almost fake.  "He might actually be impressed for once."

"I, for one, am glad your Director is _not_ here,” Loki muttered, frowning at the mere sound of the man’s name.  “His constant interference in our affairs is extremely off-putting.”

Clint gave him a dry look.  “You did kinda try to take over the world.  His job is to keep that from happening.”

Loki glared at the reminder.  “Yes, and I fear I will be paying for that mistake for the next _several_ decades.”

Clint waved a hand in dismissal.  “He’ll be dead way before that.”

"True," Loki allowed.  "I do take some small measure of delight in that fact."

The look Clint sent his way was both wary and amused.  “I was joking.”

Loki gave a hum of dismissal and stepped out into the arena proper, and Clint had to jog to keep pace with him.  On the far side of the training grounds, against the wall, were the archery targets, and Clint was relieved to notice that there weren’t many others taking up that space.  In fact, there were only a handful, three men and a woman, but it was only the woman who held a bow.  The others were merely watching.

"Oh, this will be entertaining," Loki said, his voice holding a dark sort of amusement.

"Friends of yours?" Clint asked warily.

"Friends of _Thor’s_ ,” Loki corrected.  ”His dearest companions, in fact.”

"Can’t say as I remember seeing them around the palace," Clint said, and as his gaze touched on each of the four figures, his brow furrowed.  ”They look sorta familiar, though…”

"They should," Loki remarked evenly.  "They fought alongside my brother against the Destroyer."

That brought Clint up short as he mentally replayed SHIELD’s mission footage from Puente Antiguo.

"Holy shit," he whispered.  "Xena, Jackie Chan, and Robin Hood."

"What?" Loki asked, the confusion plain in his tone.

"Just something Agent Garrett said when those four came strolling into town," Clint answered.  "I remember going through the files after the battle.  We didn’t know who they were…just that they were obviously from off world…and the names sorta stuck."

"Well, their _proper_ monikers are the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three,” Loki replied.  ”Respectively, they are Hogun, Volstagg and Fandral.”

"Think I like Robin Hood better," Clint snorted.

As they watched, Sif drew her bow, held the draw for a breathless beat, then released.  The arrow flew straight, and hit the bullseye she had been aiming for.  It wasn’t a bad shot, Clint had to give her credit; from one archer to another, he had definitely seen worse.

"What say you, my Hawk?" Loki asked, turning to Clint with the familiar spark of mischief in his eye.  "Shall I introduce you?"

Clint’s brows drew together and he gave Loki a shrewd, calculating look.  “Introduce, sure.”

Loki merely grinned before making his way over, and Clint had no choice but to follow.  Something about Loki’s amusement was setting off little alarm bells in the back of his mind, but just the fact that Loki was amused at all kept him from saying anything.  If needling Thor’s friends made him feel better, who was Clint to deny him that?  Hell, maybe they even deserved what was about to happen.

Their approach didn’t go unnoticed, and the three men went still and silent at seeing Loki striding up to them, grin still firmly in place.  The large bearded one, Volstagg, openly gaped, while the others were able to keep their surprise slightly more contained.

Sif, however, glowered menacingly at Loki before casting an indifferent glance his way.  Clint didn’t mind; it wasn’t really her fault she didn’t know how awesome he was.

"Impressive aim, as always, Lady Sif," Loki said as he drew closer, tucking his hands neatly behind his back.

"So, the rumors are true," she said, ignoring his praise.  "You really _have_ returned.”

"Indeed," Loki agreed.  "Flattering, to think there are rumors spreading.  Nothing _too_ vicious, I hope.”

"No more than usual," the blond one, Fandral spoke up.  His eyes cut to Clint, sizing him up… and then down.  Clint held back his sneer and simply stared back.

"And what did it take to convince the All-Father to let _you_ back into his graces?”  Sif did not even attempt to hide the loathing in her voice.

It was that which prompted Clint to speak up.

"That’s kinda none of your business," he said, quite calmly despite the thunderstorm of piss-offedness currently raging in his chest.

He expected Loki to chide him for ‘being rude’ or some other such nonsense, but all he got was a pleased smirk.

There was nothing pleased about the look he got from Sif.

Loki’s grin widened just a fraction of an inch as he took in the outraged expression that Sif had turned upon his Hawk.  

There was one thing that had always held true of the mortal; no matter the time or place; no matter the foe…Clint’s protective urges were not to be denied.  Any slight or verbal barb triggered a quick and concise rebuttal, usually accompanied by a glower that would send lesser men scuttling away.

But alas, Sif was _not_ a lesser man, and she simply matched Clint’s frown with one of her own.

"And who are _you_ to tell me what is _my_ business?” she finally asked.

Clint completely ignored her question in favor of snapping open his case and drawing out his bow.  He lifted his gaze to meet hers before replying, “All theses rumors flying around, but you don’t know who I am?  Looks like you’ve been listening to the wrong people talk.”

"Ah, yes," Sif murmured in a silky tone.  "I have heard tell of you, archer.  And I see that you are no less in thrall of Loki than you were before."

Fandral chuckled lightly at that even as Hogun drew in a sharp breath.

Clint’s knuckles went white around the riser of his bow, and Loki stiffened slightly as he fought against the tide of rage rising in his breast.  He would not allow these four to see him rattled, so he shoved down his anger and buried it beneath a tight smile.

"In that you are mistaken," he bit out.  "I hold no sway over Clint.  He is here of his own volition; following only the orders his heart commands."

"He’s also standing right here," Clint bit out.  He turned his scowl on Sif.  "Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but you’ve obviously got some kind of beef with Loki.  I don’t even blame you."  He ignored Loki’s unamused huff.  "Just don’t go using me to get your jabs in, got it?  I’m sure you’ve got enough ammo without having to drag me into it."

Sif’s glare of outrage might have frightened anyone else, but Clint was beyond pissed himself.  When she bared her teeth in a seething snarl, he met it with a glare of his own.

"Do you truly know with whom you are consorting?" Sif growled, stepping closer and raising her hand to point directly into Loki’s face.  He moved his head back to avoid being poked, but otherwise didn’t move.

"Probably better than you do."

"He is a liar, and a thief.  A traitor and usurper.  A _murderer_.”  This last was hissed between clenched teeth.  “And yet you defend and proclaim your loyalty to _him_?  When I heard Thor’s tales of you, I thought there might have been among the warriors of Midgard one I could respect.”

Clint cocked his head curiously.  “And I need your respect because…?”  He waited, but there didn’t seem to be an answer forthcoming.  “Look lady, I don’t know you, and you sure as hell don’t know me.  Whatever your problem is, I suggest you try to get over it.  Trust me, if I can do it, anyone can.”

Sif just blinked, and _finally_ lowered her arm.  Her gaze seemed to go from enraged to calculating, as if Clint had just flipped an equation upside down and she wasn’t expecting it to make sense.

"Are all Midgardians as insufferable as you?" she finally asked.

"I prefer the word ‘stubborn’, myself," Clint quipped.  "Anyway, are we done arguing now?  I really just want to shoot some arrows."

Sif stepped back, giving a mocking bow as she did and sweeping her left arm wide.  ”By all means, archer,” she said.  ”Have at it.  Let us see a measure of the skill that Thor has bragged about.”

Clint ignored her parting shot and deftly pulled an arrow from his quiver.  He nocked it and drew back the bowstring in a slow, controlled motion, gauging the tension in his fingertips.  

Then came the moment he loved most.  

Everything around him fell away as his focus on the target intensified.  Nothing mattered aside from that one small area; not Sif, not the Warriors Three, not the soldiers drilling behind him.  Nothing.  

Clint released the shot, exhaling as it flew true and striking the center of the bulls-eye.  He allowed himself a small smirk even as he reached for another arrow.

"Impressive," Sif commented dryly.  "And yet, that is a feat any number of archers could accomplish."

"Just getting started, sister," Clint murmured.  "Keep your panties on."

Loki snorted, struggling to contain his laughter as Clint shone him a quick grin.  

The archer held eye contact with the god even as he released his second shot.  Again, the arrow found its’ mark, nestled tight at the side of the first.  

Clint fell into a clockwork rhythm, leaving no time between shots for Sif to comment.  He nocked and released, nocked and released, the bow-string singing as each arrow flew.  Seven shots later and the first arrow was perfectly surrounded, wedged in among the others.

"Go on," Loki hummed.  "Finish it."

Clint drew the final arrow, holding the string a beat longer than the previous attempts before letting it fly.  

The faint crack as the first arrow split neatly up the middle wiped all traces of mockery from Sif’s face, and firmly cemented Loki’s smug expression.

"What say you _now_ , my Lady?” the god asked.

Clint flexed his fingers and gave the gathered Asgardians a quick sideways grin.

"I gotta say, I’m a little rusty.  Been a while."

Sif’s mouth drew into a thin line, her eyes sparking with ire, but could find no fault with Clint’s shooting.  She looked from him to the target and back, eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"Yet you hit your mark every time," she commented.  "Tell me, were the Chitauri as accommodating, to stand in one place as you took your aim?"

Clint couldn’t help it, he flat-out laughed at the absurdity of her insinuation.  “You’re asking if I can hit a moving target?” he asked.  “Just give me something to shoot.”

Sif just glared.  Fandral, who had been silent until now, cast about for a target.  A small table nearby held a platter of fruit, mostly picked over, but there was an apple core standing alone.  He snatched it up and threw it into the air, giving Clint a cocky smirk in challenge.

Quick as a striking snake, Clint nocked an arrow and fired.  When the core fell to the dusty ground, there was an arrow shaft piercing it straight through the middle.

"Such a dangerous foe," Fandral drawled, picking the apple core up from the ground and pulling the arrow free.  He spun the shaft between his fingers before offering it back to Clint.  He lifted the apple core up and peered at Sif’s face through the hole.  "I do believe we have been saved, my Lady."

Sif rolled her eyes and refused to acknowledge her ridiculous companion.  She gave Clint a shrewd, calculating glare.

"I will not dispute your skill with a bow," she finally allowed.  "Quite impressive, in fact.  However, a warrior cannot rely on one weapon alone."

Loki went still at Sif’s words, but Clint was merely curious.  It was true, he relied pretty heavily on his archery, but it was by no means his only skill.

"That a challenge?" he asked, ignoring the almost-panicked look Loki shot his way.

"If you choose to take it as such," Sif said.  Her tone was light, but her eyes were hard and her gaze didn’t waver.

Clint pondered whether to take her up on it or not.  Clearly, she had a hate-on for Loki—and he just _knew_ there was a story behind that—and whatever it was, apparently, it extended to Clint as well.  The real question was, should he humor her?

When Clint chanced a glance at Loki, he could see exactly what answer he would like him to give.  Loki didn’t want him fighting Sif, for whatever reason.  But he wasn’t asking him not to, either.

Looked like it was all on him.

Clint just shrugged one shoulder.  “Why not?”

Loki bowed his head in resignation as Clint took the warrior maiden’s challenge.  This was _not_ what he’d had in mind when he’d suggested visiting the training grounds, but he couldn’t claim to be surprised.  His Hawk was nothing if not stubborn…and Sif even more so.

"How do you fare with a sword?" Sif asked.

"Better with a knife," Clint shot back.  "But hey…a sword’s nothing but a big knife, right?"

Loki bit back a groan at Clint’s flippant answer before interjecting, “There shall be no live steel, my Lady.  I’ll not have either of you hacking bits of the other off simply to prove a point.”

Sif unbuckled her sword belt, handing it to Volstagg as she scowled at the god.  ”Forever trying to ruin my fun,” she huffed.  ”So be it.  Practice swords will have to suffice.”

Hogun crossed to a nearby weapon rack, pulling two wooden swords from their holders and tossing them to Sif and Clint.  The archer caught his easily and gave a few quick swings to test the balance, noting that they looked remarkably like Japanese bokkens.

Sif twirled her sword above her head, ending with a flourish and pointing the wooden blade at Clint’s face.  A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she motioned him forward with her free hand.

"Come, then," she goaded.  "Show me what Midgardian warriors are made of, and perhaps you can earn my respect."

"Still don’t think I _need_ your respect, lady,” Clint chuckled.  ”But I’d be happy to knock you down a peg or two in the attitude department.”

"If you can, that is," Sif replied and began to circle to her right.  "But by all mean, you are welcome to _try_.”

Clint knew his arrogance was showing, but then, so was Sif’s.  His, however, served a purpose.  The way she responded to his taunts told him she was easy to bait, and her pride was a weakness.  He knew he would never be able to overpower her; even as a mortal, Clint was sure he would have little advantage over her when it came to brute strength.  No, if he was going to win against Sif, he would have to rely on his speed and reflexes.

Her first lunge was as predictable as they come, and he easily dodged a swipe that would have knocked his head off, wooden blade or not.  Sif was testing him, gauging his reactions, trying to get a read on him.  Again, predictable.  His advantage over Sif was that he could be extremely _unpredictable_ in a fight.  People were constantly underestimating him, and he made no attempt at changing their minds.  The less they knew what he could do, the better.

A few more strikes were easily dodged, and Sif was beginning to get frustrated with his lack of offense.  It showed in the way she bared her teeth, and the swings that came faster and harder.  She was much too experienced a fighter to let her moves get sloppy, though, but it was all about getting her timing down.  All Clint needed was one good hit.

All the while, Clint could feel Loki’s eyes on him; it was like a spotlight shining directly onto him, and he was never more aware of his attention.  He knew this little sparring match hadn’t been part of his plan to let Clint get some practice in, but he was determined to make it a good show nonetheless.

After a few more dodges and a block that caused Clint’s arm to go numb all the way to his shoulder, Sif finally seemed to come to the end of her patience.  With a growl, she switched her sword to her other hand, leapt into the air and swung down as if to split Clint down the middle.

She might have, if Clint was still standing there.

Her blade met the ground instead of the soft, giving flesh of squishy Midgardian.  Sif looked up from her crouch, hair flipping back over her shoulder, and cast her eyes about for her missing target.

That was when Clint’s own blade cracked against her armored shoulder, shortly followed by the rest of the archer as he wrapped his free arm around her throat.  They tumbled with his momentum, rolling until they came to rest with Sif on her back and Clint crouched over her, wooden blade across her throat.

Clint grinned down into the wide, shocked eyes of the Goddess of War.  “Don’t feel too bad about it,” he said, a bit breathless from the scuffle.  “No one else ever thinks to look up.”

Loki found himself holding his breath as the scene before him played out.  He cast a quick glance at the Warriors Three, noting that while Volstagg and Hogun looked thunderstruck, Fandral had turned an appraising eye upon Clint.  

"It looks as if you have been bested, my Lady," the swordsman remarked.  "Do you yield to the Midgardian?"

"Never," Sif growled, knocking the wooden blade from her throat and scrambling to her feet.

"No?" Clint questioned, straightening up and meeting her glare head on.  "Not even after I knocked your ass in the dirt?  Where I come from that _usually_ counts as a loss.”

"It was but a stroke of luck," Sif muttered.  "Nothing more."

"The luck was in the make of the sword and the setting," Loki hummed.  "Were this the battlefield, and had the weapon held an edge, then your blood would have fed the ground."

Sif snarled in reply, throwing her practice sword to the dirt at Clint’s feet.  She sent a scathing look Loki’s way before turning and stalking off, Hogun and Volstagg following in her wake.

"Nice to meet you," Clint called after her.

Fandral snorted laughter, shaking his head ruefully as he stated, “I have never laid eyes on two beings more well matched than you and your betrothed.  And while the Lady Sif may refuse you _her_ respect, you have earned a measure of mine, archer.”

With that, the swordsman gave a brief bow and hurried after his companions, leaving Loki gaping in disbelief.

Clint turned to catch the stunned expression on the god’s face and he grinned in return.

"That went well," Clint chuckled.

"Indeed," Loki murmured before ambling over to the wooden sword lying in the dirt.  He picked it up and gave it a half-hearted swing.  "Rather too well."

Clint scoffed and twirled the blade he still held, much like Loki had seen Thor do with Mjolnir.  “You seem surprised,” he said, looking out at the practice yard where the guards had paused in their training to watch the brief sparring match.

"Few have bested Sif," Loki said as he crossed to the weapon rack and put the blade back in its place.  He turned to Clint, and there was still a measure of awe written across his face.  "I have never seen you fight like that."

For a few moments, Clint just looked back, some of the amusement leaching from his eyes.  Then he shrugged and dug the tip of the wooden blade into the dirt at his feet.

"What can I say?  A lot of people have tried to kill me.  Had to learn a lot of ways to keep that from happening."

"Well, I daresay the Lady Sif may have underestimated you, my Hawk," Loki said as he came closer, a slow smile once more spreading across his face.  "I do believe you have earned a prize."

Clint blinked before giving the god a smirk of his own.  When Loki drew close enough, he fisted the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to murmur in his ear.

"Think I want some more target practice."

"And is that _all_ you want?” Loki purred in return.

"I’ll get back to you on that," Clint replied in a low tone.  "Later.  When we’re alone."

"Fair enough," Loki chuckled.  "I will content myself, for now, with a further display of your skill."

"Eyes on me, Princess," the archer smirked.  "Prepare to be contented."

With that, Clint released Loki’s collar, handed the god his sword, and stalked back to retrieve his bow.  Loki stepped to the sidelines, a light smile on his face as he watched Clint ready himself to shoot.

Ten minutes later, a crowd had gathered around the archery range.  The Asgardians murmured among themselves as Clint fired shot after shot, never once missing his target.  Loki’s smile grew wider with each cheer and surprised gasp, and as Clint’s audience swelled, the god surreptitiously scanned those in attendance.

"Hit this, if you can, archer," someone called out before a ring was flung into his path.  

A split-second later an arrow thunked into the target, the ring twirling merrily around the shaft.

Clint grinned at the shouts that rose behind him.  He’d never really set out to impress anyone other than himself with his archery, but he’d be lying if he said he minded the watchers.  If the people wanted a show, then he’d give them one.  

Hell, it would be nice to have a little attention thrown his way for something _other_ than being Loki’s betrothed.

As Clint continued to shoot, Loki’s eyes crawled over the crowd, dismissing one form after the next until his gaze fell upon a figure near the edge of the throng.  A cowl shadowed the watcher’s face, but something in their stance seemed familiar to Loki; something in the way they held themselves still, and apart, and utterly focused on Clint.

"Idunn," Loki breathed.

It was easy enough for Clint to block out the sounds of the crowd that had gathered.  He was used to having an audience; there was always at least a handful of agents at the range whenever he took the time to practice.  In fact, Coulson used to bring the new recruits down to watch him whenever they started getting too big for their breeches.  No matter how good they _thought_ they were, they were never a match for the Hawk.

Clint smirked to himself at the memory of the dozens of crestfallen faces he’d caused over the years.  The thing he liked best about knocking rookies down a peg or two was that the ones with the most potential would work that much harder to get back on those pegs.

Now, though, he was just having fun.  It had been too long, he’d missed the feel of the bowstring against his fingers, the slight sting when he released the draw, and the sound of his arrows hitting home.  The targets here were much more satisfying to hit; the woven straw gave off a more solid _thunk!_ than the ballistic jelly he was used to at S.H.I.E.L.D.

After a time, however, it wasn’t enough to merely aim and fire; he was getting bored with the same target every time.

"Hey, Loki!" he called over his shoulder.  "Any way we can make this more interesting?"

"Several," Loki returned, and if Clint wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw the god’s eyes light up.  "What have you in mind?"

Clint smirked and spun an arrow between his fingers.  “Surprise me!”

"As you wish," Loki grinned, and the god raised his hands, weaving an intricate pattern as he softly recited an ancient verse.

Clint turned his face up to the sky, noting the way the very air seemed to waver and roil; like a heat mirage above a desert highway.  He narrowed his eyes, watching as the swirls and eddies overhead thickened and took on a golden cast; the whole mess drawing tight before exploding outward in a rain of small disks.

The crowd collectively flinched; all save the hooded watcher, and Loki allowed himself a small hum of satisfaction.  He had been _nearly_ certain that the mystery figure was Idunn, and judging from her lack of a reaction to both the formation and fall of metal, he had been correct in his assumption.

After all, _she_ had been the one to share this particular spell with him.

The golden disks hovered and wove around Clint; some dipping down to the skim the ground while others rose high enough to circle his head.  He watched, searching for patterns, as they spun lazily through the air, glinting in the sunlight.

"Anything I should know about these things before we start?" Clint asked as he drew an arrow from his quiver.

"They may seem quite slow in the beginning," Loki offered.  "But their speed increases the longer they remain airborne.  Also, only a direct hit to the very center of the disk will put them down."

"Is that all?" Clint scoffed.  "Jeez…I thought you were gonna make this interesting."

"Oh, that is by no means all, my Hawk," Loki smirked.  "There is one more trick in their arsenal."

"Yeah?" Clint questioned.  "And what’s that?"

"I think it would be far more _interesting_ if I allowed you to discover that on your own,” Loki hummed, and with a flick of his wrist, the disks scattered in all directions.

This was more like it, Clint thought as the targets began to move.  They weren’t very big, only a few inches across, and their motion appeared at first to be entirely random, but as Clint observed them, a pattern began to form.  They swooped lazily for a few moments before banking sharply, only to resume the lazy swooping again.

He drew and fired, his arrow slicing cleanly through one floating disk and into the heart of another.  Both fell in pieces to the ground, dissolving into dust before they touched the dirt.

It was an impressive shot, but there were still dozens more circling above.  Clint wasted no time and began picking them off in pairs, some even by threes.

It wasn’t until there were only a handful remaining that Loki’s last words came back to bite him in the ass; there was a brief pause, all of the targets stopped their circling to buzz madly like angry hornets, and suddenly, each disk split into a dozen more even smaller than the first.

Clint cursed to himself, throwing Loki a disgruntled scowl.  Loki merely raised an eyebrow, tilting his head and lifting a shoulder in a half shrug, as if to say ‘ _you_ did _ask for it_.’  Clint huffed through his nose and squinted back up at the floating targets, fingers drumming against the grip of his bow as he pondered how best to neutralize them.

The next arrow he drew was special.

It sailed through the air, into the thickest grouping of disks, but instead of hitting any one particular target, he’d seemingly missed.  The crowd at his back muttered at the apparent lack of skill in shooting blindly.

Until Clint hit the trigger on the grip of his bow, and the disks were swallowed in a tangle of nylon netting.  The murmuring turned to gasps of surprise; apparently, trick arrows weren’t that common in Asgard.

After that, it was easy enough to pick off the stragglers.  In ones, twos and threes, the rest of the targets disappeared, leaving only a littering of arrows on the dusty ground.

When Clint turned around, he was startled to find the crowd at his back had nearly doubled since he’d begun, and it was obvious from the applause that sprang up that he had managed to impress them.

A sudden wave of nostalgia hit him then, and he remembered a time when this had been his life.  The sudden pang of memory was so sharp he had a hard time keeping it from showing on his face.  Instead, he plastered on his familiar smirk and gave a mock bow to his audience before he began collecting his arrows from the ground.

"Next time, we charge admission," he said as he made his way to Loki’s side.

Loki hummed thoughtfully.  “Perhaps next time, it will be even more challenging.”

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Clint asked as his mouth curved into an easy smile.

"A touch of one and a bit of the other," Loki murmured as he looked Clint over.  

It seemed the little show he’d put on had done him a world of good.  The archer was relaxed, all previous traces of tenseness gone from his solid frame, and his eyes fairly sparkled with amusement as he twirled an arrow between his fingertips.

"Cryptic, as always.  Just the way I like it," Clint teased.

"Of course," Loki remarked.  "You would have found yourself _quite_ disinterested by now, were I not.”

"Yeah, because you’re just so _boring_ otherwise,” Clint snorted as he reached out to smooth back a wayward strand of the god’s hair.  

"Perhaps that is not best way to describe it," Loki mused.  "But today you have fully proven your ability to entertain.  Your audience could scarcely tear their gaze from your display of skill."

Clint glanced at the rapidly dispersing crowd before shrugging.  ”Wasn’t really showing off for _them_ ,” he said.

"No?" Loki asked.  "If not them, then who?"

"You, of course," Clint grinned.

A pleased smile spread across the god’s face before he replied, “Be that as it may, they were nonetheless impressed.  And I believe that one _particular_ Asgardian was in attendance, as well.  One which we have been waiting to see.”

"Idunn was _here_?” Clint asked.  ”Why didn’t you talk to her?”

"That is not the way of it, my Hawk," Loki chided.  "Idunn rarely ventures beyond her walls.  And when she does, one does not approach her.  She must be the one to initiate contact."

Clint took a deep breath, ready to let loose a string of profanity he’d been keeping back ever since he found himself in this realm.

"I am trying," he said slowly.  "Pretty hard, actually, to be patient.  You keep telling me we need to wait.   _Everyone_ keeps telling me we need to wait.  Hell, I’m a sniper, waiting is what I _do_.  I gotta say, just between you and me, I am really fucking sick of waiting.”

He made his way to the table holding his bow’s case, folding the weapon carefully and placing it back inside.  He heard Loki approaching slowly behind him and made it a point not to turn to face him just yet.  Sometimes, he let his back do his talking for him.

It wasn’t Loki’s fault, Clint knew that, but at the same time, the constant waiting, feeling like a carrot was being dangled in front of them was beginning to grate on his nerves.  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when this all started, but this certainly wasn’t it.

"And yet, wait is what we must do," Loki said, not without a hint of regret.  "Idunn cannot be swayed.  She will approach us in her own time.  For her to make an appearance here, now, is a sign that our waiting may soon be over."

Clint ground his teeth and closed the case with a little more force than was strictly needed.  “Like I said, I’m trying.”

"Yes, and I know how it wears on you, my Hawk."  He was closer now, nearly speaking into his ear, and Clint had a hell of a time keeping the shiver from showing.  "Yet, I have managed to distract you often enough, and have yet to hear any complaint."

"You… are not playing fair," Clint groused, trying—and failing—to hold onto his resentment.

"Oh, I am not playing," Loki purred, and Clint felt his hand creep up his spine.  "If you can but hold on for a bit longer, I will gladly distract you for as long as it takes."

Clint finally turned to look at him with a petulant scowl.  “You would do that anyway,” he said.

"Well, yes," Loki agreed, completely unapologetic.

"I suppose it could be worse," Clint sighed.  "The three weeks I spent nearly starving to death in the jungles of Bangladesh?  That was definitely worse."

"At least here you have a measure of comfort," Loki agreed.  "A full belly and a soft bed."  The god paused before continuing in a low, smoky voice.  "And a warm body beside you, to pass the long nights."

"Hope you know that you’re way more than that to me," Clint said pointedly.

"I do," Loki hummed.  "You have proven such time and again."

"Good," the archer replied, lifting his bow case from the table.

"Where do you wish to go now?" Loki asked.  "The day is but half over, and we have no pressing engagements."

Clint thought for a moment before answering, “Let’s take the long way back.  It’s been a couple days since we stopped by the stables and saw Sleipnir, and I don’t really feel like going back to the palace just yet.”

"Of course," Loki smiled.  "Whatever you would like, my Hawk."

"What I’d _really_ like is for Idunn to make up her goddamn mind already,” the archer groused.  

"The time is coming, Clint," Loki murmured.  "I promise you that."

"Yeah, that’s what you keep saying."

The smaller man huffed out a deep sigh and started away from the archery range.  

Loki watched him for a beat before following in his wake, a seed of worry blossoming in his breast.  He had no doubt that the keeper of the apples would call for them soon, but he could only hope that the result of that meeting would be worth the torment of their waiting.

Clint knew he was being difficult, but waiting around was never something he could stand to do for very long.  It didn’t come naturally, he’d had to learn to be patient, and for the most part, in most _things_ , he was.  He could sit motionless for hours, waiting for the shadows to grow, the angle of the sun to be just right so his target never saw what hit them.  Hell, he could sit through an argument between Stark and Rogers.  He should be able to wait for this.

Perhaps, he thought, it was the importance of what they were waiting for.  It weighed on him, more than perhaps even Loki realized.  He wasn’t used to investing this much of himself in anything, or anyone.

So of course, Clint’s coping methods were a little clumsy.  He tried not to take his temper out on Loki, and for the most part, he succeeded, but he always felt guilty when Loki made these overtures to placate him.  Clint didn’t want to be catered to like a brat throwing a tantrum.  Sometimes, he just needed to have his mad.

They approached the stables, and almost right away, Clint felt the tension begin to leave him.  Something about this place calmed him, reminded him of part of his life that he had almost buried completely.  He’d always been good with animals, and when traveling with the circus, he’d done more than his fair share of mucking out the horse stalls.

Most people wouldn’t rank that as a pleasant memory, but for Clint, it was almost like a reprieve.  There was no pressure in shoveling horse shit into a wheelbarrow, you just… shoveled horse shit into a wheelbarrow.  The horses were better company sometimes than the other performers, certainly much better company than some of the other carnies, and when Clint was doing stable duty, his brother was usually nowhere in the vicinity.

So yeah, it was safe to say that Clint liked the palace stables just fine.  They were surprisingly austere, given that Loki’s son was a permanent resident.  Sleipnir’s stall _was_ much better appointed than the others, which may or may not be attributed to the fact that he was the All-Father’s personal steed.

When Clint had learned that, he wasn’t sure that he’d heard right.

"Your dad rides around on your son’s back?" he’d asked.

Loki had blinked, a bit taken aback by Clint’s incredulity.  “Well… yes,” he’d said.  “Sleipnir is the most fleet-footed mount in all of Asgard.”

"He’s your kid!" Clint returned.

That was weeks ago, and Clint still wasn’t used to the idea.  That Loki had birthed an eight-legged foal was easier for him to accept than the thought of Odin riding around on his back.  All Loki would tell him of the situation was that it was ‘complicated’, and that he should simply let the matter drop.

He’d agreed, at the time, because he’d had no other choice, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

"Hey kid!" Clint called as they approached Sleipnir’s paddock.  It didn’t matter that Sleipnir was centuries older than him.  He was effectively his step-father, so he would always be a kid to Clint.

Pointy black ears swiveled at the sound of Clint’s voice, and the thunderous beat of a team of galloping horses filled the air as Sleipnir trotted over to the fence.  At the sight of the two of them drawing near, he couldn’t keep his excitement contained and began to stamp each leg in turn.

"I do believe he is more excited to see you than me," Loki teased.

"Probably has something to do with those sugar cubes I sneaked him last time," Clint chuckled.

Loki smiled, remembering their previous visit and how Sleipnir had whickered and nosed against Clint’s hand, mouthing over the archer’s palm until not a speck of sugar had remained.  He’d then lowered his massive head and butted Clint in the hip, nearly knocking the mortal over as he demanded more of the sweet treat.

Loki had watched as Clint turned his pockets out, murmuring to Sleipnir that ‘ _sorry, he didn’t have anymore, and that laying him out in the dirt of the paddock wasn’t gonna make ‘em magically appear_ ’.

Sleipnir had mouthed the fabric of Clint’s pockets before snorting in acceptance, and then he had raised his head and hooked it over Clint’s shoulder.

"Is he _hugging_ me?” Clint had asked.

"I believe so," Loki had replied, his voice rough.  

It never failed to bring a sweet ache to his throat when he watched Clint interact with his children.  The archer had proven to be utterly accepting of the two he had met; wrestling with Fenrir and spoiling Sleipnir with treats.  And in turn, they had grown to anticipate the frequent visits.

Like now.

Sleipnir reared, pawing the air with his four front hooves before galloping the length of the paddock.  He wheeled at the far end, kicking his back legs in joy as he turned and then thundered back to the gate.  Tossing his head, the stallion trumpeted, welcoming his mother and betrothed to his home.

"Yep, he’s a little excited today," Clint laughed, and stretched up one hand to scratch behind Sleipnir’s right ear.

Loki’s smile grew as he watched his son lean into the archer’s touch and sigh contentedly.

Clint’s right hand slipped up to mirror the left, and Sleipnir nickered softly, bowing his head to press against Clint’s chest.  The archer gave him a thorough scratching, and Loki was bemused to see that even then, his son could barely stand still, his hooves stamping and scuffing the dirt underneath his feet.

Loki thought back to their initial meeting, and how Clint had gone wide-eyed at the first sight of Sleipnir.  The large, black horse been in a full gallop, covering the ground of the paddock with lightning speed, and Clint had watched, speechless for a moment before finally whispering, “Holy _shit_.”

"Impressive, is he not?" Loki had asked, the pride evident in his voice.

"That’s…putting it mildly," Clint had remarked, shaking his head in amazement.  "All those legs, though.  It’s making me dizzy just watching him run."

Loki had chuckled and called out to Sleipnir, beckoning him to the fence.  His son had spun on a dime, racing toward them and skidding to a stop, kicking up a rain of dirt that had pattered against their feet.

"I see he likes to make a dramatic entrance," Clint had grinned, glancing pointedly at Loki.  "Just like his mommy."

The archer’s grin had devolved into full-fledged laughter at the withering look the god sent his way.

Clint was getting used to the fact that Sleipnir was more than just a horse.  He _was_ a horse, in the sense that he couldn’t speak and loved to roll in the dirt, and everything else a horse did.  Still, there was an intelligence in his eyes that went beyond a mere animal.  He was Loki’s son, despite being used as a mount on the occasions that Odin traveled from the palace.  There were a gaggle of servants to care for him, less like stable hands and more like attendants.  They kept him clean, brought him food, made sure he lacked for nothing.

"Oh jeeze," Clint muttered when his fingers happened upon a knot in his mane.  From the look of it, it had been there for some time.  "Who’s supposed to be doing this?  They’re slacking."

His fingers pulled and unknotted the tangle, and Sleipnir stood there placidly, eyes half-lidded, whickering softly.

Behind them, Loki merely watched, that ache in his chest slowly growing, until the urge to join them became too much.  Clint heard him approach, but was too preoccupied with untangling the knot to notice the raw emotion on Loki’s face.

"Someone needs to get fired for this," he muttered.  Sleipnir snorted as if in agreement but kept his head perfectly still, his ear turning in Loki’s direction the only outward sign he knew he was there.

Loki chuckled and ran his hand fondly over his son’s jaw.  “Perhaps you should be the one to oversee his grooming.  You take it much more seriously than they.”

"Maybe I will," Clint said without a trace of mockery.

"Truly?" Loki asked.  "That is a bit below your station, I think."

"I don’t _have_ a station,” Clint returned.  “And there’s nothing wrong with making sure your kids are taken care of.”

Loki took a sharp breath and bit his lip against the sudden surge of love he felt wash over him at Clint saying such a thing.  He was, literally, the _only_ other besides Frigga who had or ever would accept Loki’s children.  Even Thor, as well-meaning as he was, couldn’t see Sleipnir as anything other than an extraordinary horse.  If Odin had not named him as his steed, he would most likely be living in the gardens with his older brother, or perhaps given away to the Valkyries as a peace offering.  Freyja, the guardian of Valhalla, had once expressed interest in him.  It was not out of the realm of possibility that Sleipnir could very well have been bargained away.

But Clint was able to see past all of that, and all he saw was Loki’s son.

"What do you say, kid?" Clint was asking as he finished untangling the knot in his mane.  "Should I teach these stuck-up stable boys how to give a horse a proper brushing?  I’m pretty sure you’re a dapple under all that dirt."

Sleipnir tossed his head, snorted and stamped his hoof, just once, very decisively.

"It is settled then," Loki said, trying—and mostly succeeding—in keeping his voice from trembling.

Clint just grinned and rubbed Sleipnir's nose to seal the deal.

Loki’s gaze darted from Clint to Sleipnir and back again; just when he’d thought he knew all there was to know of the man at his side, the archer never failed to show some new facet of his personality.  The concern and care his Hawk displayed for Sleipnir when beyond that of a simple consort, and once again, Loki was reminded of how lucky he was to have Clint.

That dark voice in his head that had insisted he didn’t deserve the archer had been very wrong…and Loki could not have been more glad.

As he watched Clint’s hands carding through Sleipnir’s mane. searching for any other overlooked snarls, Loki thought of their future together.  An eternity of love, companionship and care.  An age of lazy mornings and late nights spent curled around one another.  A chance at once again having a _family_.  

It was more than the god had ever dared hope for, and everything he had told himself he didn’t need.

But now?  It was within his grasp, and he was terrified that it would all be dismissed on the whim of another.  

He knew Idunn to be a stern and stubborn sort, but hopefully they could sway her.  And considering her appearance at the archery range, Loki felt certain that the assessment of Clint’s character was well underway.

Loki bit back a frustrated sigh, instead crossing to the stable doors and reaching into a barrel set to one side.  He drew out several root vegetables and made his way back to Clint’s side.

"Here," Loki murmured.  "They may not please him as much as your pilfered sugar-cubes, but I believe the boy deserves a treat of some sort."

“‘Course he does,” Clint agreed, plucking one from from Loki’s grasp and offering it to Sleipnir.  ”Hell, he didn’t even kick dirt on us this time.”

Loki smiled fondly and stroked his fingertips over the nape of Clint’s neck, letting out a chuckle at the shiver that ran through the archer’s frame.

"Indeed not," he replied softly.

"Hey, whoa, not in front of the kid!" Clint said, shrugging out from under Loki’s wandering fingers before they could slide into his hair.

"An innocent brush of fingers is inappropriate?" Loki wondered.

"Nothing innocent about your fingers in my hair," Clint returned with a petulant scowl.

Sleipnir whickered curiously and nudged Clint’s shoulder.  The archer patted him reassuringly and fed him another space-turnip.  It was easy to see he was not pacified, and stared at Loki accusingly while he munched.

"Oh do not look at me like that, Sleipnir," Loki chided.  "I can hardly be blamed for the way someone else reacts to my touch."

Clint burst out laughing; who knew a horse’s face could be so expressive, and who knew he would be able to convey so much _Loki_?

"He’s definitely your kid," he said, and this time they both turned disgruntled looks on _him_.  It was a good thing he was immune to such things.  As it was, it only caused him to laugh that much harder.

Loki and Sleipnir both looked to the other, which only sent Clint into further hysterics.

"Stop it!" he gasped between peals of laughter.

"Stop _what_?” Loki demanded, and the way he tilted his head was so much like the way Sleipnir was looking at him, it only made him laugh harder.

"I do believe that he has finally taken leave of his senses," Loki said to Sleipnir.  

The horse bobbed his head in agreement and snorted, pawing at the dirt before giving a questioning nicker.

"Yes, it was only a matter of time," Loki answered, his voice fairly dripping with mock regret.  "My poor Hawk.  Whatever shall we do with him now?"

Sleipnir uttered a sorrowful whinny, and lipped at the archer’s hair.

Clint wiped his eyes as his laughter trailed away.  It had been forever since he’d let go like that, and his belly hurt with the strain of it.  He turned his gaze to the god and his son as they conspired against him, looking even more alike than before.

"Knock it off, or you two are gonna get me going again," Clint grinned as he reached up to tousle Sleipnir’s forelock.

The horse jerked his head away, giving Clint such an affronted look that it sent him over the edge once more.  

"Oh look," Clint chuckled.  "He gets just as touchy when I mess up _his_ hair as you do!”

Sleipnir shook his head and stretched out his neck, giving a long, deliberate lick up Clint’s forehead and slicking back the front of his hair.

"Rude!" Clint exclaimed.

"I suspect you had that coming," Loki hummed smugly.

"Yeah?" Clint asked, a wicked smile curling his lip.  "Guess I’ll just have to use that cape of yours as a towel."

"You dare _not_ ,” Loki thundered, stepping away and eyeing Clint warily.

"Don’t I?" Clint questioned, matching the god step for step until Loki was backed against the fence.

Behind them Sleipnir loosed a noise that sounded suspiciously like the equine version of laughter, and from a terrace overlooking the stables, a hooded figure smiled.

"Don’t you dare lay one grubby finger on me," Loki warned menacingly as Clint advanced on him.

"Grubby?" Clint asked with a sharp grin.  "You’re gonna hurt my feelings, Princess."

He dove for Loki then, almost quick enough to catch hold of the trailing end of the cape he wore.  He wasn’t quite quick enough, and then Loki was backing away again, towards Sleipnir, who was watching the two of them ‘play’ with what could only be described as amusement in the way he tossed his head.  It was almost as if he was encouraging them, and so Clint saw no reason to disappoint the kid.

Loki was keeping a wary eye on him as he stalked closer, curling his fingers in the edge of his cape as if that would keep Clint from snagging it.  He was trying for all the world to look as imposing as he could, but Clint knew it was all a ruse, Loki was playing a game just as much as he was.  A game he seemed determined to win.

Except there was a variable he hadn’t calculated for, and he realized only too late that Clint had an ally.

"Traitor!" Loki howled as he was lifted from the ground, his cape held firmly between Sleipnir’s teeth.

Clint’s laughter returned as he made his way over to them, Loki grumbling unhappily as Sleipnir presented him with his dame, a very smug—a very _Loki_ —cast to his features.

"Thanks, kid," Clint said as he did as he said he would and used the edge of Loki’s cape to wipe the wetness from his face.  "Coulda done without the makeover, though."

"I shall remember this, Sleipnir," Loki fumed, still dangling inches from the ground.

The horse whickered an almost-apology and set him back on his feet, and Loki tugged his clothing back into place while glaring daggers at the both of them.  His scowl softened the slightest bit at seeing the two of them together, gloating in their small victory.

"Well, now that you are all thoroughly soiled," a soft, melodic voice interrupted them.  Three heads all turned to see Frigga standing a few paces away, and it was clear by her expression that she had seen most, if not all, of their brief scuffle.

"Mother," Loki said, bowing his head, and if Clint wasn’t mistaken, there might have been a bit of a blush tinting his ears pink.

"Come now, there is a feast tonight to celebrate the return of your brother, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three," Frigga said, giving them all an appraising stare before turning gracefully and striding away.  "You are expected to attend.  Both of you."

Clint looked over at Loki, who was staring after his mother, looking as if he’d just sucked on a lemon.  It was clear he would rather _not_ attend, and yet, Frigga had come herself to inform them, so there was no question that they would.  Clint himself was still new to the concept of epic parties after a successful campaign.  He was a spy and assassin, most of his victories weren’t meant to be celebrated.

"Come on," he said, tugging at Loki’s elbow and pulling him along.  "See ya later, kid!" he called, waving over his shoulder at Sleipnir, who shook his mane in farewell before trotting out into the grassy pasture.

Loki trod along beside him, scowling at the prospect of being surrounded by ‘loud, drunken buffoons’ and made to look as if he enjoyed being there.

"Hey, cheer up," Clint said, ignoring the sour look Loki threw him.  "We need to clean up first, right?  That means we have to be naked at some point.  Probably at the same time.  In the same place.  And it’s still early enough that we’ll probably have time to—"

He wasn’t allowed to finish, as Loki grabbed him by the forearm and dragged him back to their rooms.

The door to their suite had barely closed before Loki was on him.  He pushed the archer against one velvet-flocked wall, giving a sharp, quick grin before leaning in and licking over Clint’s mouth.  The god nipped at his Hawk’s full lower lip and then slanted his mouth firmly over the other man’s, tasting his breath as the kiss deepened.

When they finally broke apart, several heartbeats later, Clint teased, “Wow.   _Someone_ is a little worked up.”

"Yes," Loki readily agreed.  "You know very well the effect you have upon me."

"I didn’t really _do_ anything,” Clint chuckled as he leaned up and dragged his lips over the god’s throat.

"Did you not?" Loki breathed, the edge of hunger plain in his voice.  

"Nothing special," Clint replied and wound one arm around Loki’s middle, pulling him flush against him.

"The performance at the archery range was nothing?" Loki asked in a low murmur as his hands came to rest on Clint’s shoulders.  "Besting Sif in battle was no more than a simple task?"

"Just another ordinary Tuesday to me," the archer grinned.  "Wait.  It _is_ Tuesday, right?  Sorta hard to keep track here.”

Loki gave an amused huff and tilted his head, offering better access to the pale skin of his throat.  Clint scraped his teeth over Loki’s pulse, thrilling to the soft moan the god voiced before he gasped out, “The day matters not, my Hawk.  And your modesty is impressive.  But you must admit that what you have accomplished is far from _ordinary_.  The people of Asgard would not gather to praise the ordinary; to lift their voices in admiration.”

"Don’t care about that," Clint murmured as he dropped small kisses along Loki’s shoulder.  "The only admiration I need is from _you_.”

Loki grinned and pulled Clint away from the wall and toward the bed.

"Then by all means, show me what you can do to earn my praise," he purred.

"Usually don’t have to do anything," Clint said, with more than a hint of smugness.

Loki shoved him back onto the bed a little harder than was strictly necessary.  Clint just grinned up at him, sprawled out on his back surrounded on all sides by furs and pillows and down-stuffed blankets.

"Hey, I’m all for getting dirtier before we get clean," he said as he sat up, fingers unlacing the fastenings on his leather tunic.

Loki’s gaze was fixed on Clint’s hands, biting his lower lip without bothering to hide his arousal.  His eyes glittered, pupils wide and dark as he watched Clint remove his clothes.  It wasn’t nearly as artistic as a strip tease, but for Loki, it was just as enticing; even more so because it wouldn’t be just a tease.  Clint had never led him on without delivering in the end.

With his upper half bare, Clint leaned back on his elbows, smirking as Loki’s eyes trailed over his chest, down the line of his abs, to the top of his pants and even beyond.

"That will do, my Hawk," he murmured as he stepped between Clint’s knees at the edge of the bed.  "And we are about to become _quite_ filthy, I am afraid.”

"Good, that was kinda my plan," Clint said, and his voice dropped into that low, gravelly tone he loved to use, the one that caused the spike of heat in Loki’s belly.

It was true, ever since leaving this very room earlier in the day, Clint had been doing all he could to keep Loki’s focus.  The only time that focus wavered was when they’d gone to visit Sleipnir.  Clint would never hold that against him; it would be beyond petty to try to wrest a father’s attention away from his children, and he wasn’t so selfish to even try.

But now, they were alone, and Loki was looking at him as though trying to decide where to sink his teeth first.  Clint was almost tempted to tell him to forget the party, they’d just stay in bed for the rest of the day, and the night, and hell, why not the day after that, too?

They’d done plenty of that, though.  Since they were there for the duration, Clint was determined to make the most of his unexpected vacation.  Barely a day went by when one of them wouldn’t pull the other back into the soft bedding and curl around them, only to crawl out of bed hours later, ravenous, dehydrated and in desperate need of a bath.  Clint had let himself get complacent in the past few weeks; they’d been largely left to themselves and their own devices, and were rarely accountable for the hours of their days spent tangled up in the sheets.

Not so now.  As much as he would like it, they couldn’t get too carried away.  Quick, dirty, and immensely satisfying would have to hold them over until they could escape the feast and disappear back into their rooms.

"Part of my plan includes you being out of these," Clint prompted, reaching up and tugging at the laces on the front of Loki’s pants.

"Well, then," Loki purred as he canted his hips forward.  "By all means, remove them."

Clint’s blunt fingers made quick work of the laces and he slid the soft leather down Loki’s thighs.  The god toed his boots off and stepped free of his breeches as he flicked his fingers, magicking away the remainder of his clothing.

And then Loki was bare before him.

Clint’s eyes ran over the god’s familiar form; each inch having been thoroughly mapped by the archer’s hands and mouth.  Shoving himself upright, Clint’s fingers dug into Loki’s hips and he pulled the other man into his lap.

Loki straddled his Hawk and ran his hands up the muscled slope of Clint’s back, scratching lightly with his nails.  The archer shivered and in return licked a heated stripe up Loki’s chest.  An impatient nudge of his hips showed Clint precisely how ready the god was for him, and Clint grinned in anticipation.

It was never that difficult to get Loki going, but even after all this time, Clint felt a twinge of pride at the effect he had on him.  Loki’s hunger for him never seemed to wane, and goddamn if that didn’t just feed the archer’s ego.  And so Clint tilted up his hips, grinding his own rapidly swelling length, still caged in leather, against Loki’s backside.  

The god gazed down at him, a smirk plucking at the corner of his mouth as he felt his Hawk’s need.

"It would seem," Loki murmured, "that your plan neglected to take into account the presence of your _own_ breeches.”

"Whoops," Clint breathed, his gaze held by the sparkling green of his god’s eyes.  "Maybe you could do something about that?"

"Gladly," Loki returned.

With a quick motion of his hand, Clint was bare beneath the god, yet another set of pants sent of to who knew where.  And as the heat of Loki’s body settled comfortably against his own, Clint’s mind turned from the momentary wondering over disappearing clothes, and zeroed in on the lap full of eager Norse god currently grinding against him.

Once again, Clint’s mouth went to Loki’s pale skin, trailing his lips across his collarbone, letting his breath wash over him before setting the edge of his teeth against the tender flesh of his throat.  Loki’s breath hitched, and he let it out in a quiet, almost pleading moan.

Clint pulled the skin between his teeth, sucking hard to leave a mark, biting down just the slightest bit.  The hands carding through his hair gripped tight, and this time the moan was anything but quiet.  Clint’s arms tightened around him as if to keep him from escaping, but Loki’s hands in his hair only pulled him tighter against his throat.

When Clint released him, he pulled back to see the evidence, only to see the bruise already beginning to fade.  He ran his thumb over the spot before it disappeared completely, and couldn’t help the disappointment at having his mark erased so quickly.

It must have shown on his face, because Loki’s hands slid from his hair to cup the sides of his face, turning his gaze to meet his own.

"I should like very much if you would not frown so," he said teasingly.  "Especially when I am naked astride your lap."

"Not frowning," Clint said, making every effort to smooth his features so he wouldn’t brand himself a liar.  "’S just my resting face."

"Indeed?" Loki asked, clearly unconvinced.  "And why in all the worlds would your face be _resting_ when it could be doing something so much more enjoyable?”

Clint answered with a smirk.  Then, in one deft, quick motion, he had picked Loki up and spun him onto his back.  He was still reeling from the sudden relocation and hadn’t even gotten his hair out of his face before he felt Clint’s mouth, all warm breath and wet tongue.  From his collar bone, across his chest, over his trembling belly and still lower.

The archer’s hands kept his hips pinned as he worked his way down Loki’s body, teeth nipping, sucking tiny bruises into his skin.  He met each of Loki’s gasps and panting moans with one of his own, which soon turned to growls as he neared his final target.

Only then did he look up, eyes burning into Loki’s own.  Clint held his gaze for a few long heartbeats, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to bruise, no matter how temporary.

Then he lowered his head and took Loki’s cock in one smooth swallow.

Loki’s back arched, and his hips twitched up, fighting against the archer’s firm grip.  His breath left him in a ragged shout as the wet heat of Clint’s throat surrounded his rigid flesh, and Loki’s fingers curled in the sheets, anchoring himself for what came next.

And Clint did not disappoint.

The tight press of the archer’s throat constricted further; rolling and pulling at the god as he swallowed languidly around Loki’s cock.  A gasp fell from the other man’s slack lips, and Clint repeated the motion, holding himself utterly still and allowing his mouth to work the god’s thick flesh.

A shudder ran through the body beneath him, followed by a soft whimpering moan, and Clint pulled back, inch by slow inch until just the head was caged between his lips.  He suckled lightly, flicking his tongue against the tip and drinking down the strangled cries his attentions garnered.

Loki pushed himself up to his elbows, breath coming quicker by the moment, the heavy weight of bliss curled in his belly.  He met Clint’s steel blue gaze, pupils blown with lust, and reached one hand out to briefly cup the archer’s cheek.  His fingers dug deeper into Loki’s hips, pulling a moan from the god, and with a pleased hum, Clint began to move.

He pressed forward, swallowing harshly on the down-stroke before pulling back, his tongue fluttering against the underside of Loki’s cock.  The pleading whine that swelled in Loki’s throat urged him on, and he repeated the motion again and again, moving faster with each pass.

Loki’s hand slid to the nape of Clint’s neck, gripping firmly, nails biting into soft flesh.  Clint moaned around the god’s length, the heat building in his own belly as he brought Loki closer to the edge.

"Such skill," Loki gasped.  "Even after all this time, you never fail to amaze me with the ways in which you make my body sing."

Clint pulled back and gave a quick swipe of his tongue over the head of Loki’s cock.  ”I’m good at what I do,” he said with a grin.  ”And I gotta say, hearing those noises you make sorta gets me going, too.”

"A job enjoyed is a job well done," Loki murmured.

"It’s not a _job_ ,” Clint scoffed.  ”Hell, you make it sound like work, or something.”

"I stand corrected," Loki replied softly, his voice trailing away into a sharp gasp as Clint swallowed him down once more.

It wasn’t Clint’s intention to draw this out; there was a time limit, after all, and they were likely to be missed if they were late—or never showed up at all.  As much as he would have loved to stay on his knees all day and worship Loki’s cock, they had things to do and places to be.

He pulled off slowly, eyes burning up into Loki’s the whole while.  Loki’s hips tried to follow his retreating mouth, but Clint held him down firmly, the squeeze of his fingers warning enough to keep still.  Despite the fact Loki could have overpowered him whenever he chose, he stilled his hips and let himself fall from Clint’s lips with the slightest of whimpers.

"Don’t worry, Princess," Clint said, his voice slightly roughened.  "I’m still gonna make you see stars."

"You were well on your way, my Hawk," Loki panted, shifting his hips despite Clint’s hold on them.

"Yeah, I can tell," Clint said before swiping his tongue out to lap at the moisture beading the head of Loki’s cock.  He had to wrestle Loki back down to the bed when his hips surged up, seeking more of that hot, wet friction.  "Stay still," he warned, "or it will just take longer for me to give you what you want."

"What I want," Loki huffed, "is for you to put your mouth back on me."

Clint chuckled and climbed up onto the bed, over Loki’s body like a dark shadow.  He shoved Loki’s legs apart with one knee and settled his weight on top of him, hips resting within the cradle of Loki’s own.  He kept his sharp grin as he lowered his mouth to Loki’s, feeling his labored breaths heaving in his chest.

"How’s this?" Clint murmured, before claiming his lips in a possessive kiss.

Loki moaned his approval as he arched his body against Clint’s and brought his hands around his back to pull him down against him.  Clint reached up and pulled first one arm away, then the other, pinning Loki’s wrists to the bed beside his head.  When Loki strained against his hold, Clint pressed his teeth into the god’s lower lip in warning.  Again, Loki moaned, writhing as much as he was allowed.

When Clint pulled away, Loki was staring up at him with lust-blown pupils, and the flush of arousal had spread from his cheeks down his throat to bloom across his chest.  Clint gave a smug smirk at the effect he had on his god before leaning in to groan into his ear.

"I have some payback coming," he said, pressing Loki’s wrists more firmly into the sheets.  "It’s a month overdue.  Think I’ll collect it now, if you don’t mind."

"Whatever could you mean?" Loki asked, voice rough and trembling.  Clint simply grinned down at him, and he saw the realization slowly dawn in his eyes.  "Oh," he said, very, very quietly.

"Yeah," Clint agreed.  "I hope you’re ready for me, ‘cause I’m about to fuck you through this bed."

Loki’s eyes widened the slightest bit, and he caught his lower lip between his teeth, giving a brief nod by way of reply.  

"Good," Clint breathed.  "Because we don’t have much time left, and I don’t want to waste one minute of it."

Holding Clint’s gaze, Loki murmured a soft incantation before pushing his hips up to grind against the archer.  ”Then delay no further,” he whispered.  ” _Take me_.”

Clint wrapped his left hand around both of Loki’s wrists, holding him tightly as he reached down between the god’s thighs.  A smirk rose on his face as he pressed two fingers deep into the other man’s heat, prompting a gasp from Loki.

"Yeah, you’re ready," Clint rumbled, crooking his fingers and stroking gently over his inner walls.  

Loki squirmed under him, rolling his hips down and forcing Clint deeper.  A whine swelled in the god’s chest, rising into a breathless squeal as the archer’s fingers found his target.

"Oh, _please?_ " he panted.  "Now?"

"Just can’t wait for me to use you up, huh?" Clint asked, pulling his fingers free and gripping his cock, teasing the head over Loki’s opening.  The god went still at the touch, his thighs edging wider even as his brows drew together in a pleading look.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," Clint rumbled, tilting his hips forward just the slightest bit.  

"You already know," Loki whimpered.

"Sure do," Clint agreed.  "But I still wanna hear you _say_ it.”

Loki’s breath left him in a frustrated pant and he tossed his head back, eyes squeezed shut with a grimace.  Clint could feel the tension in the line of the body beneath him, feel Loki’s pulse beating strong and fast in his grip.  Soon enough, the god would break down into a pleading mess.

Clint loved to see him like this; as much as he enjoyed the feral, untamed side he could sometimes provoke, it was this wanton, lust-crazed beast he wanted now.

"Please," Loki panted, brows tilted pleadingly.  "Clint, please, no more teasing."

"Just tell me what you want, and you’ll get it," Clint said, and pressed closer, nearly breaching Loki’s opening before pulling back.

The next moan Loki let out ended with a growl, and Clint knew he had pushed him to his breaking point.

"Cease this maddening torture and _fuck me_ ,” he demanded.

"That’s my god," Clint breathed, and finally gave him what he wanted.

Pushing forward, Clint buried himself into Loki’s heat.  He kept a firm hold on his wrists and moved his other hand to wrap around his throat.  Loki’s breath hitched before letting out a broken, halting moan at the drag of flesh within him and the tight collar of Clint’s fingers cutting off his air.  With a soft sigh, Loki tilted his head back in surrender, giving his Hawk free reign over his body.

Clint didn’t waste his opportunity as he began to move.  Each press forward ended with a harsh grind against Loki’s hips, as if he was trying to burrow even deeper inside.  His fingers tightened, nails digging crescents in the skin of Loki’s throat, and he watched as poison green eyes rolled back in bliss.  His hands, still held above his head in Clint’s crushing grip, tightened into fists as he writhed beneath him in an effort to meet each thrust.

“ _This_ ,” he gasped.  “ _Just like this, my Hawk.”_

Clint’s eyes burned down into Loki’s as he moved faster, slamming his hips into him as if he truly could fuck him through the bed.  Loki could do nothing but let his mouth fall open in a soundless scream, eyes gazing sightlessly up at the ceiling.

"I know that’s what you wanted," Clint said, his voice strained with effort.  "Feels better knowing you earned it, doesn’t it, Princess?"

Loki’s eyes flicked to his for the briefest of moments before another wave of bliss caused them to flutter half-shut.  Clint chose to take that as a ‘yes.’

"You love this," he went on, firming his grip on Loki’s throat.  "When I pin you down and just take what I want from you.  When I make you my whore.  You would moan like one if I let you, wouldn’t you?  Maybe beg me for more.  Faster.   _Harder…”_

Then Clint put actions to his words and fucked Loki harder, until he could feel where the bruises would be the next day, along the edges of his hips.  Loki surged up into Clint’s grip, pressing himself harder into the hands pinning him down.  He writhed and trembled and pleaded wordlessly with his body and his eyes.  His fingers clawed at nothing, searching blindly for something to cling to, to dig his nails into, to mark and gouge and claim.  But Clint was the one doing the claiming this time, and he was going to make Loki remember this; he was going to sear the reminder deep inside, for him to remember long after they were done.  Until the next time Clint felt the need to stake his claim.

A breathless squeal bled past the hand circling his throat, and Loki bucked beneath him, grinding his cock up and against Clint’s lower belly.  The archer bit back a growl, pressing himself firmly against the writhing god, trapping his length between them before circling his hips.  Loki’s eyes rolled back at the harsh friction, and he gasped, tremors working through the long line of his body.

"You’re already close to breaking," Clint marveled.  "Must be doing something right."

Loki gave a curt nod, straining against the archer’s hold and silently mouthed, _'Harder.'_

"Greedy," Clint chuckled as he rutted deeper, feeling the god tense around his length.

He swore bitterly under his breath as Loki’s legs came up to wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass and urging him on.  The heat smothering his cock was just this side of too much, and Clint could feel the tension in his belly grow with each thrust of his hips.  

Holding back was sheer torture, albeit _blissful_ torture…but he wasn’t done with his god just yet.

No.  He’d have him screaming first.

Loki’s pulse thrummed under Clint’s palm, a sure sign of the god’s arousal, and Clint grinned down at him.  He moved faster, setting a punishing pace, hips snapping unchecked as he drove Loki closer to the edge.

"You’re gonna come for me," he ground out, slicking his tongue over his lower lip.  

That nod came again, and Clint continued in a low, rough tone.

"Don’t need your agreement, Princess.  You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.  The way you’re shaking?  The glazed look in your eyes?  You’re ready to break.  You _want_ to be broken, don’t you?”

Loki’s body thrashed beneath him, and a keening moan swelled in his chest even as his cock throbbed against Clint’s belly.

"That’s all the answer I need," the archer murmured, bending his head to brush his lips over the shell of Loki’s ear.  

"C’mon then," he breathed.   _"Come for me."_

Something inside of Clint loved to see his god so undone, so lost in the throes of pleasure he couldn’t spare a thought to his own dignity.  When Clint had him like this, writhing and gasping on the very edge, he was nothing but exposed nerves and tensing muscles, straining tendons, and a ragged voice bleeding through harsh pants.

At Clint’s command, Loki’s eyes rolled, unfocused, blinded by bliss, and his body thrummed like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

"Don’t you dare hold back," Clint growled through clenched teeth.  He was nearing his own end and every moment Loki delayed, he could feel the tension mounting, nearly painful in its intensity.  "Fucking _come.”_

His words paired with his hand gripping, vice-like, around Loki’s cock snapped the last thread of Loki’s restraint.  Clint felt pain sizzling down his back as Loki’s nails raked his skin, drawing deep welts.  Blood flowed, but Clint barely felt the pain, too focused on the thrashing god beneath him, the clenching heat surrounding him, gripping so tight it actually halted his own release.

"God… fucking… _fuck!”_ Clint rumbled, and forgot for just a few moments that he had Loki’s throat between his fingers.  The body below him bucked and writhed, gasping in vain for air, and the flesh trapped between them pulsed and twitched and spilled.

Clint fucked him through every tremor and shudder, eyes locked onto his face.  Slowly, Clint eased his hold on Loki’s throat, and the god sucked in a breath as if he had been drowning.  Another spasm wracked his body, and his eyes cracked open to lock with Clint’s.  He said nothing, but the demand was clear enough.

The corner of Clint’s mouth twitched up, and he pulled back only to slowly slide forward again.  Loki panted out a quick breath, eyes still boring into Clint’s own, and he canted his hips up to meet the archer’s increasingly lazy thrusts.

"Looks like you still want something," Clint teased.  

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he caught his lower lip between his teeth, giving a quick nod.

"You gonna tell me?" Clint asked.  "Or do I have to guess?"

"As if you do not know," Loki chided, his voice rough.

"I like to hear you _ask_ ,” the archer replied simply.  ”And even more than that, I like giving you what you ask _for_.”

Loki’s hands slid up to lace behind Clint’s nape and the god pulled him down to press tightly against his heaving chest.  Clint groaned, the angle shifting so that the friction surrounding his cock was that much greater, and Loki nuzzled against the side of his throat.

"Come," the god murmured, his breath hot against Clint’s skin.  "Leave a bit of yourself within me; a measure of heat that I may carry…to remind me that I am yours."

"Do you really need reminding of that?" Clint asked quietly, his hips rocking just a bit faster.

"No," Loki admitted.  "But I still wish to feel the truth of your love branded into my flesh.  Delay no further, and give me your heat, my Hawk."

And there it was.  That moment when Loki managed to cut through everything that had come before and drive Clint’s heart right into his goddamn throat.  He swallowed harshly before even attempting to speak.

"I can do that," he finally murmured, his voice tight.  "I can absolutely do that."

"Of course you can," Loki agreed, nipping at Clint’s ear and rolling his hips to urge him on.  "Now show me.   _Come_.”

And then he did, as if he was just waiting for Loki’s permission.  His release flowed out of him, not in crashing, pulsing waves, but like a pressure valve slowly letting off steam.  Clint gasped and shuddered through it, feeling the pleasure all the way up into his throat; his scalp tingled with it, his fingertips, even the soles of his feet.  The gouges in his back were like brands of fire searing into him, the sweat on his body a conduit for an electric jolt that just seemed to go on and on.

Loki watched him, hands cupping each side of his face, eyes traveling over his features in awe as Clint gave him everything.  The archer’s eyes slid closed against the sight of Loki gazing up at him like that, suddenly too overwhelmed with the emotion he normally kept caged inside.  It happened at the strangest moments, sometimes, as if he was so inept at _feeling_ that he just didn’t know when to show it.

It seemed Loki understood; he said nothing, merely slid his hands around the nape of his neck and pulled him down, until Clint was gasping into his sweat-damp hair.

For several long minutes, Clint lay there atop him, his body slowly rewiring itself after such an intense release.  Honestly, he didn’t think he had ever come like that before.

"Have you returned to me, my Hawk?" Loki murmured against his ear, and even still, it sent a shiver through Clint’s body.

“‘M’ere,” he slurred.

Loki slid his hands through his damp hair and gave an amused chuckle.  “I was worried for a moment that I had finally broken you.”

"Almost," Clint answered, testing his limbs and finding them somewhat responsive.  He pushed himself up and looked down into the thoroughly satisfied gaze of his god.  "You don’t look entirely put together yourself."

"I know," Loki said, entirely pleased.

With that, Loki shifted beneath him; stretching like a great cat just awoken from a nap, and Clint sucked in a sharp breath at the jolt that ran through him at the motion.

Loki laughed softly, delightedly, and pulled Clint down against him once more.  The archer shifted his hips, pulling free from the confines of the god’s body before allowing himself to melt into Loki’s embrace.

"Not squishing you, am I?" Clint asked, his voice muffled against the side of Loki’s throat.

"Not in the least," Loki assured him.  "And even if you were, I would never complain.  This is where you belong.  In my arms."

"Good," Clint murmured.  "Because I’m not sure I can move just yet, and I’m really comfortable."

Loki’s fingertips stroked lightly up the curve of Clint’s spine, finding their way once more into his hair and scratching gently over his scalp.  Clint melted into his touch, sighing contentedly.

They lay quietly for a long while, twined together on the rumpled bed as the light faded from the sky outside.  It wasn’t until the night-birds began their calling that Loki roused Clint from his near slumber.

"It is time to stir, my Hawk," the god said quietly.  "A feast awaits, and I believe you have worked up a healthy appetite."

"We _both_ have,” Clint yawned and planted a quick kiss on the corner of Loki’s mouth before rising from the bed.  He stretched expansively and then held out one hand to Loki.  

"C’mon Princess," he said.  "Gotta get clean before we make our appearance.  And something tells me that if we’re more than a little late, Mama Frigga is gonna have our heads."

"Indeed," Loki returned, a smile curving his mouth as he placed his hand in Clint’s.  "We should hurry, then."

 

 

  
  



End file.
